two previews
by javct
Summary: What's this? She's writing Clintasha again! Just two previews to my current WIPS; please let me know what you think. Also, I got a tumblr!


**Okay, I know I haven't uploaded any Clintasha since Effulgent but I've been working on these since Dear Natasha (oh, it rained two days ago; ironically, I laughed). This is just a preview of what I've had but I want to finish these and upload them but this is just to show you guys I'm working on something. Please feed the little grey box of fifty shades down the bottom and tell me what you think.  
Also, I've got myself a wonderful tumblr (or re-got myself a wonderful tumblr, whichever way you want to look at it). The URL is remembering-budapest (easy to remember hey?)**

**So, anyway, let me know what you think and I may or may not continue these.**

**God Knows**

**(After)**

It was the 26th of January when Natasha refused to wake. Natasha closed her eyes and tried to forget the world; she tried to forget the feeling of the morning breeze, of fingers brushing against fingers; she tried to forget the carefree moments that she had shared. She simply shut her eyes and clawed at her blankets. It was a simple task: forget. Yet, it seemed to be a task that Natasha could not accomplish. Forgetting was supposed to be easy, after all, the human brain only needs to be trained. Natasha clawed at the sheets that blocked her from the world as though it were her memories. Natasha's body was screaming at her to move; it craved her natural morning exercise, but she would not give in. She wished to stay in her bed. It was the only place she felt safe; in her blankets no one could hurt her. Natasha fought back a scream and tried to block out her emotions. She abhorred her emotions; they made her weak and vulnerable. Natasha Romanoff could not afford to be weak and vulnerable; she was Russian after all. She bit her lip until she brought about blood and kicked her feet until her legs hurt. Nothing Natasha did could take away the bittersweet pain.

On the 27th, Natasha went mute.

**(Before)**

"God knows what you're hiding in your weak and drunken heart, Clint," Natasha said to Clint Barton. He stared at her blankly without uttering a word. She said nothing and nor did he; it was a requited silence. Natasha studied Clint; it had been several months since she had seen him last and much had changed about Clint. Natasha stared into his lifeless eyes and felt a pang of empathy for the poor drunken man. He was a shell of the man he was once and she was helpless to help him. What he had done to himself was his own doing, she could not atone his mistakes. "What have you done to yourself Barton?"

Clint spoke for the first time that night, "I let reality in," he stated. He titled his head at her and squinted his eyes; she felt a surge of hope. Would he? Could he? Did he—? "Nat?"

She nodded simply, biting her lip to stop herself tearing up. "Hello Clint," she said for the second time that night.

Clint's facial muscles relaxed and he reached out for Natasha's hand. His touch sent chills up Natasha's spine and made Nat feel safe for the first time in months. She jerked her hand away; Clint looked startled. "Sorry," she said quickly. "Reflexes I guess,"

He nodded slowly and looked around. Natasha closed her eyes and waited for the familiar question. But it did not come. "You look beautiful tonight Tasha," he said, a smile playing on the edge of his lips. "You really do; a fool like me does not deserve you,"

Natasha stood to her feet, "People help people Clint," she replied, "Now, we need to get you cleaned up,"

They spent the rest of the night restoring Clint to his former glory. He half-resembled the person she used to know when they were done. "What did they do to you Clint?" Natasha whispered into his ear after they made love that night.

He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, "I don't know," he admitted, "I don't know my love,"

They fell asleep in each others arms that night.

**(After)**

"It wasn't your fault Natasha," said Bruce Banner one day. She said nothing. "It wasn't. Grief is a normal human emotion; you're allowed to be human, no one will judge you for being human Nat," at the sound of her old nickname, Natasha jerked her head up and glared at Bruce. She took a deep breath and stood to her feet. Pain shot through her feet, but Natasha pressed forward. It was only when she looked down when she realized that she had stepped on broken glass. Sitting down, she watched as Bruce carefully removed the glass from her foot and bandaged it up. "The explosion wasn't you're fault, Natasha, please remember that. It wasn't your fault."

Natasha's eyes were full of the sentences she refused to say. Everyone blamed themselves for the explosion and the aftermath it caused. Bruce squeezed her hand and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Get better Natasha," he said finally before leaving her alone. She watched him go and said nothing. It had been two weeks since Natasha last said anything. She blamed herself, that was much was obvious, she knew that it was her fault that Clint was dead. His death, however, didn't make her weak and vulnerable as everyone had expected, no, it seemed to make her stronger and more agile. Ever since _the incident _Natasha had thrown herself into battle's and missions with no fear and no regrets. She never showed mercy anymore; in her missions there were no survivors, well, not anymore anyway. She was just as she was before Clint brought her to shield. It was almost as though Clint had kept her human and sane. She was ruthless, unpredictable and mute.

**A Cup Of Tea To Heal The Soul**

**(period drama, AU)**

"Devonshire truly is heaven on earth, do you not agree Mr. Rodgers?" Natasha Romanoff asked her dance partner.

"I'm afraid that I have not had the pleasure to visit your beloved Devonshire but I must say Miss Romanoff, you make it sound celestial." He replied, bowing as the dance finished. Natasha bowed also and continued her conversation.

"The company is a little less varied in Devonshire I must admit. I suppose that being born and raised in London you would have a different view than myself. However, if you ever find yourself in the vicinity of Devonshire please be sure to visit us. I know some good walking routes and can show you the house that belongs to the Duchess Georgiana." Natasha paused and shuffled her feet, "forgive me Mr. Rodgers, I feel as though I am dominating the conversation."

Mr. Rodgers smiled, "Please Miss Romanoff continue. It is pleasant for once not to initiate the conversation with simple conversations such as the weather or Miss Hill's new dress."


End file.
